Rafe looked neither left nor right; he concentrated on the pastor’s words, waiting until the pastor turned to him and spoke.
“And who stands forward to witness this holiest of events?” the man asked.
Rafe tensed, his eyes locking first with Jason’s and then with Alana’s. Finally, he looked at the pastor and spoke. “I stand forward,” he said.
The pastor smiled, nodded his head, and turned to the bride and groom and began to speak again. But Rafe heard nothing save a drone in the air.
Before he realized it, the service was over and Alana was Jason’s wife. Moving slowly, he bent to Jason and shook his hand. Then he looked at Alana and into the face that was no longer hidden by the veil.
He saw the moistness within her large blue eyes and the tense smile on her lips. Rafe did his best to smile. “Congratulations,” he said in a full, if tight, voice.
A moment later a crowd of men surrounded Alana, and a crowd of women did the same to Jason. Rafe stood back, his mind numb. He was biding his time now. He had but one obligation left, and that was the promise he had made Jason to dance the first dance in his stead.
When the crowd began to break apart–most of the people headed to the refreshment area–Rafe tried to lose himself within them, but Jason called him back.
When he reached Jason’s side, Alana was gone, spirited off by the women. He heard Jason’s loud sigh, and within it the ever present pain.
He wheeled the chair toward the open area and went to the table set for two at the head of all the other tables.
“Are you all right?” he asked Jason.
“Fine,” Jason nodded with a smile. “But I could do with a strong drink.”
Rafe nodded his head. “I’ll second that.” Rafe looked around and waved a servant over.
“Bourbon?” he asked Jason.
“A deep one.”
“Two,” he told the man. A moment later the servant returned with the drinks.
“To survival,” Jason said as he looked into Rafe’s eyes.
“To your new life and marriage,” Rafe replied pointedly.
Jason looked up at Rafe. “When are you leaving?” His voice held a tone of doubt that Rafe heard clearly.
“After the first dance.”
“Then this is it, eh, old friend?”
“This is it, Jason.”
“I know you’ll find the people who tried to destroy you,” Jason said in a low voice.
“I will, Jason. No matter how long it takes, I will.”
Before anything else could be said, a wave of noise reached the men at the tables as the women returned to the lawn.
At their fore, surrounded by a half dozen other women her own age, was Alana. The veil and train were gone. The sun bounced off her raven hair as the women escorted her to the area set aside for dance.
The musicians struck up a chord, and as the other women backed away, Alana looked at Rafe and Jason and waited. Slowly Rafe turned back to Jason and took his hand again.
“Thank you, Jason.” Their eyes met again, and they stayed that way until Rafe finally released his grip. Then he turned back to Alana and walked the twenty feet it took to reach her.
The music continued, and he offered his hand to her. She accepted it and, as they began to move together, they flowed within the strains of the waltz.
They did not speak any words, but their eyes locked. This should have been their wedding; they should have been dancing their first dance as man and wife.
Halfway through the waltz, the other couples began to join them. Only when the dance was almost at its end did Rafe speak.
“If you ever need me, no matter what the reason, send for me, or come to me. I will always be there for you, as will my love.”
As he spoke, Alana’s eyes caressed his face. When he finished, Alana imperceptibly nodded her head as her hand tightened on his. The music ended. Rafe bowed, kissed the tender skin of her hand, and escorted her to the table where her husband awaited her.
After helping her to sit, Rafe turned and, without a backward glance, walked gracefully away.
He rode hard and fast and arrived in Charleston at four. After returning the horse to the livery stable, he paused to open the letter that Lorelei had handed him before he had ridden from Riverbend.
“Mister Rafe, Miss Alana asked me to give you dis. She say you ain’t to open it till you be in Charleston.”
Rafe had taken the letter and had felt the weight within it as he put it into his bag. “Thank you, Lorelei, for everything.”
“You be welcome, Mister Rafe. And–”
Seeing the confusion on her face, Rafe had not pushed her; rather, he had waited patiently until she had marshaled her thoughts.
“I jus’ wants to tell you thank you fo’ makin’ Miss Alana happy.” With that, Lorelei had fled, leaving Rafe staring at the spot she had occupied.
Standing in the stable in Charleston, Rafe opened the envelope and peered within. The first thing he’d seen were three gold coins. Then he saw another object: a simple gold ring.
After taking them out, he’d unfolded the letter and read it slowly. When he’d finished, his eyes were moist, but he forced himself to reread every word.
Dearest Rafe,
It is with a heavy heart that I must watch you leave me today. What we have shared is something given to very few, and it is something that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
Our love is special, and it will live always within my heart and mind. I only wish that our lives could have taken a different path. But they have not, and so, my dearest love, I must say good-bye.
Since you are reading this letter, you have already found the coins. Use them to take you home. Please, my love, please do that for me, if not for yourself.
About the ring. The band was my mother’s and left to me. It is something I value dearly, for it signified the deep love my mother had for my father. I give it to you so that you will always have it to remind you of my unending love for you.
Now I must close, lest I cry and blur the ink. I love you, Rafe; as God is my witness, I love you with every breath I take.
Farewell, my love.
Rafe folded the letter neatly and placed it in his jacket. Then, with the three gold coins–more than ample for his passage to California–in his pocket, he placed the wedding band on his small finger and went to the docks. There he inquired about ships bound for either California or New Orleans. He was told that no ships for California were in port, but that the Angelina, bound for New Orleans, was due to leave on the evening tide–in less than an hour. Moving quickly, he went to the dock offices and arranged passage on the Angelina. Rafe had no time to do anything other than be ferried to the boat.
As he was boarding the small boat that was to take him to the Angelina, he turned for a second and caught a sight that held him in thrall. Walking away from him on Bay Street’s wooden sidewalk were two people. The man was of average height, and the woman was also. But what froze Rafe to the spot was the unusual color of the woman’s hair. It was a silver, almost iridescent blond, and it made Rafe think of his sister. Before he could react, the couple turned a corner and disappeared.
“It can’t be,” he murmured aloud, knowing his sister could not be in Charleston. She would never leave San Francisco and the family’s business. Although Elizabeth’s hair color was rare, he had once or twice before seen others with the same.
Rafe suddenly wondered if he was trying to replace his loss of Alana with a vision of Elizabeth. He shook his head slowly, and the small craft pulled away from the dock.
Once on board the Angelina, Rafe tossed his bag into his cabin and went topside to gaze at Charleston one last time.
The overall picture was of a city being rebuilt after a war that had almost destroyed it. New buildings had already gone up, replacing the burned-out shells of the structures that had once been the glory of the city.
Behind him, the piping of the bosun sounded and, as the bittersweet sounds
died, the sails were unfurled. The ship shuddered when the first gusts of wind filled the sails, and then started on her way toward New Orleans.
Rafe closed his eyes and let his memories of Alana go free now that he was no longer at Riverbend. When he opened his eyes again, the descending sun glinted from the golden band on his finger.
~~~~~
By the time the Angelina had reached deep water, quiet was settling in at Riverbend. The guests had finally departed, the last ones riding out long after dark had come. The plantation workers were cleaning up and would do so throughout tomorrow.
For the first time since his arrival, Jason was in the master bedroom on the second floor. Gabriel and Ben had carried him up the stairs and into the room.
After they had left, following Jason’s tense instructions not to be disturbed until morning, he had undressed himself slowly and painfully, and then, without putting his nightshirt on, had levered himself into the bed.
When the clock struck midnight, he was leaning back on the bolsters of the big bed that had been unoccupied since Thomas Belfores’s death. The room itself was large and contained two dressers and an armoire.
A second room led from the bedroom. That room had been Alana’s mother’s dressing room. Behind it had been her father’s dressing room. Alana sat on the chair facing her mother’s dressing table, brushing her long hair and trying to calm her nerves.
Earlier, Jason had told her that he expected to spend the night with his wife, and Alana had nodded her head in agreement. But when she learned that Jason planned on taking over the master bedroom, she had begun to grow nervous.
“Don’t let it worry you. I plan on having a ramp built to replace one of the staircases. Until then, Gabriel and I shall manage the stairs.”
He obviously didn’t understand the source of her agitation. Without explaining, Alana acceded to his wishes as befitted a wife. In the privacy of the dressing room, she began to feel the strain on her nerves.
Stop this foolishness, she ordered herself. I have always loved Jason, and he has always been good to me. Because she knew this was true, it helped to ease her heartache for what she could not have.
Thankfully, Alana had felt no pity for Jason. She did feel his hurt, his pain, and his loss, but she did not feel pity, only a tender love.
Alana took a deep, preparatory breath, put down the brush, and stood.
She had spent the early evening burying deeply within her mind all her memories of Rafe. She had forced her willpower to rise, and she had locked away the love that had been theirs. She knew she must not think of him now, especially tonight.
Alana realized that it was time to go to her husband and lie next to him, to hold and comfort him throughout the night.
Why am I so nervous? she wondered. She had no answer; she only felt that something was not quite right. There was about the night a sense of foreboding she had no reason to feel.
Pushing aside her nervousness, she went to the door and opened it. When she stepped into the bedroom, she saw Jason resting against a bolster, his upper chest bare.
Moving gracefully, Alana went to the sconces at the far side of the room and put the candles out. But when she started toward the two remaining ones, Jason’s voice halted her.
“Not yet,” he commanded.
Her body tensed. She looked at him. Pain pinched his face, and her heart went out to him. “Your medication?”
“No. I want to remember our wedding night, Alana, don’t you?” His voice was uncharacteristically hard.
She heard the mocking tones, went to the bed, and sat next to him. Looking directly into his eyes, she did her best to smile as she put her hand over his.
“Don’t torture yourself, Jason. We’re together as we promised each other. Accept that, please.”
Jason’s eyes swept across her face. He freed his hand from beneath hers and turned his head to look at the curtained windows. “Every night for years, I dreamed of you and this night. I dreamed of holding you, kissing you, and making love to you.”
“Jason–” Alana began, but he went on as if he hadn’t heard her.
“When I was wounded, I still did not give up hope. But when the doctors told me that I had lost the use of everything below my waist, I wanted to die. I wanted to end my life. But I didn’t. I was too damned weak!”
“No, Jason–”
“Yes. And so, instead of dying, I lived. And every day the pain reminds me of my cowardice. Every night that I lay upon that prison bed I thought of you and of what we would never have–the passions that your body promised me, and the beauty of your face. I dreamed of being with you, of lying with you, and of satisfying you. But that will never happen, will it?”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Alana asked, her voice choked with emotion.
“Because I’m here with you. Because of the cruelty of life itself that places you in my bed but will not allow me the pleasure of having you.”
“But you do!” Alana stated in a louder voice than she’d intended. “You have me fully. I am yours and no other’s. We are husband and wife. We are bound together forever.” The depth of her voice carried the very truth of her words to him.
“And denied forever what it truly means to be husband and wife.”
“There is more to a marriage than that, much more,” Alana protested, willing herself to be strong and to keep the sudden onset of pity for him at bay.
“But every marriage must start with a consummation. What will ours be?” he asked, his voice once again mocking. His eyes were glazed, and his hands were curled into fists.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered as a tendril of her earlier foreboding made itself felt.
“Undress, Alana,” Jason ordered.
Alana stiffened. She stared at him without moving.
“Undress,” he repeated. “Now!”
“Why, Jason? Why are you doing this?”
“It is my right as your husband. Do it!” This time the hard edge in his voice was like a slap to her face.
Reluctantly, Alana rose from the side of the bed and, with her eyes closed, opened the bodice of the nightdress and let it slip from her shoulders. When it gathered at her feet, she stood deathly still.
From fear, chill, or both she felt her nipples harden and contract; her skin from head to toe did the same.
“Turn and face me!” Keeping her eyes closed, she did as he commanded. “Look at me!”
Opening her eyes, Alana gasped. Jason’s face was unrecognizable. His eyes were wide as they ran up and down her length. His mouth was half-open; his hands were still clenched into fists.
“Walk for me, Alana. Walk around the room so that I may see in the flesh what I have dreamed about every night for the last years.”
Alana, her face burning red with shame, did not speak as she obeyed his orders. She walked the length of the room, feeling his eyes on her with every step. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes downcast. She felt more than just naked; she felt totally exposed and helpless. She had never before known shame such as this, and she knew she would never forget this moment for as long as she lived.
“Enough. Come here!”
When she met his gaze, she saw that his eyes had turned into ash gray embers that terrified her as nothing else had ever done before. His eyes were unreadable, his face a blank. Only the heavy rise and fall of his chest told her of his state.
“Pull the cover down,” he ordered.
Alana did not move. “Why, Jason? What do you want from me?” she asked in a low voice.
“Everything, as is my right as your husband. The doctors told me that I would never be a man again. I have never tested the finality of their words. Now is the time.”
“Jason, please.”
He snapped angrily, “You married me today, Alana. You gave yourself over to me. I am your master, Alana, as surely as you are my wife. Now be a wife. Do your duty. Excite me, Alana; bring me back to life!”
Defeated and suddenly very much al
one, Alana willed her arm and hand to move. Bending over him, conscious of the way her large breasts swayed before his face, she began to pull back the light cover. She did not look at him as she did.
When she felt his hand grasp her wrist, she stopped. “That’s far enough for now. Excite me, Alana. Make love to me.”
Their gazes locked, and protest flared from Alana’s eyes, but Jason’s angry, glinting eyes glared back at her, deflecting her anger as if it did not exist.
His hand was still on her wrist, gripping it tightly. “Excite me, Alana. Do your wifely duty.”
His other hand snaked out and caught her hair. He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her harshly. Alana did not respond, nor did she pull away. When their lips touched, she knew that fighting him would do no good. He was her husband, come what may, and she had chosen him and had agreed to be his wife.
Her lips softened against his, and she tried to kiss him as would a wife, but even as she did, her head was pulled back. Opening her eyes, she found him staring at her. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
Ignoring the pain in her scalp, Alana brought her mouth to his. When their lips met, she kissed him deeply, moving her mouth against his, letting the tip of her tongue slide between his lips.
She held back a shudder of revulsion. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, but she felt no excitement filling them.
The hand gripping her wrist moved as Jason drew it to his flaccid length. Her fingers tensed, but he did not let her wrist loose.
The hand in her hair pulled her mouth from his once again, but instead of holding her and looking at her, he began to push her head downward as he moved her other hand on him.
The power in his arms was too much for her. The pain on her scalp sent sparks of light dancing before her eyes. She felt powerless to fight against his unrelenting demands.
She buried her face in his chest, even as he continued to move her other hand along his still limp length. Nausea threatened to make her sick, but she fought it back, knowing that if she resisted him in any way he would use it against her for the rest of their lives. Finally, when she thought she could stand no more of this shame, tears of humiliation fell, and she surrendered her last will. Something snapped within her mind at the outrage and horror she felt, and she was drawn from her physical body; her very essence fleeing to a safe corner of her mind, protecting her from what was happening.
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